Five Times Dean Came Out Of The Closet
by Mummyluvr
Summary: And One Time He Didn't     There have been five times over the years that Dean has let his biggest secret spill.  Most of them are marked by loss.   He's not going to let that happen again.  Gen-ish


Dear Chuck, it's been a while. I got attacked by a plot bunny last night and woke up this morning determined to write (I was actually determined to work on my new book, but this one would not let me go until I wrote it, so...). Cross-posting like woah. Enjoy, guys!

**Title:** Five Times Dean Came Out Of The Closet (And One Time He Didn't)

**Rating:** PG

**Pairing:** None? Hints at Dean/OC and Dean/Cas, I guess.

**Summary:** There have been five times over the years that Dean has let his biggest secret spill. Most of them are marked by loss. He's not going to let that happen again.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural or the characters or blah blah blah.

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><p><span>Five Times Dean Came Out Of The Closet (And One Time He Didn't)<span>

**I.**

The blankets were nice and warm, his tummy was full of milk and toothpaste, and Dean Winchester was ready to snuggle in for a good night's sleep. His mommy leaned down and kissed his forehead, smiling at him.

"Mommy," Dean said, "how come you never kiss me like you kiss Daddy?"

His mommy laughed. "Because Dean, the way I kiss Daddy is how husbands and wives kiss. One day you'll marry a pretty girl and she'll kiss you the way I kiss Daddy."

Dean scrunched up his nose and stuck out his tongue. "Yuck! Girls are icky. I'm gonna marry a boy."

His mommy ruffled his hair and walked to the door. "One day you'll change your mind," she said, and turned off the light.

Three days later, she burned.

**II.**

Dean was in big trouble. He just wasn't sure why. It was a game they played at his new school, one that was more popular than even Red Rover. He hadn't played it at any of the other schools he'd been to, and that was what made it new and exciting and fun.

He didn't understand why Uncle Bobby had to be called in to see the principal. He was just doing what all the other kids had been doing.

Uncle Bobby didn't look happy. His eyes went from Dean sitting in the uncomfortable plastic chair to the principal behind her big desk. "Is there a problem?" Uncle Bobby asked.

The principal sighed. "It seems Dean here is quite the Casanova. He kissed Billy Taylor on the playground today at recess."

Uncle Bobby frowned. "So? Kids his age do that. They chase the girls, pull their pigtails, and plant one on 'em before running off again. How is that a problem?"

"Billy Taylor is a boy."

Uncle Bobby blinked. He looked back at Dean, who was still confused. He'd just been playing the game like all the other boys, only he didn't like any of the stupid girls in his class. He like Billy. He told the grown-ups that much, and the principal huffed.

"I'll talk with him," Uncle Bobby promised as he pulled Dean out of the office. The ride back to the scrap yard was quiet, and Dean fidgeted the whole way. Uncle Bobby never talked to him, didn't tell him how he'd messed up such a simple game. He just went home and called Dad and two days later Dad showed up swaying on the porch accusing Uncle Bobby of "queering up his kid."

Uncle Bobby pulled out a shotgun and the Winchesters left.

They didn't go back.

**III.**

"Pastor Jim?"

The pastor opened his eyes and turned to the teenager sitting next to him on the pew. "Yes, Dean?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"And you won't tell my dad?"

"Not if you don't want me to. What's troubling you?"

Dean chewed on his lip and looked down at his shoes. "Something's wrong with me. I think I need to go to the doctor."

"And why's that?"

"Doctors fix people."

Jim frowned. "What do you think is wrong with you?"

Dean shrugged. "Stuff."

"You're going to have to be more specific."

"I went to that Bible Study you wanted me to go to last night."

"Good."

"And the ladies there were talking about other stuff before the Bible."

The pastor smiled. "They do enjoy their gossip."

"Do you know a guy named Max Hull?"

Jim nodded. "I do, indeed. Why?"

"They said he used to be in the group, but they wouldn't let him come anymore. They don't want him in the church, either. They said he was an abomination." Dean looked up at the pastor. "Why would they say that?"

"Max is struggling right now," the pastor explained. "He's finding himself."

"And you're helping him?"

"I am."

"Are you gonna kick him out of the church?"

"Of course not. He needs encouragement and guidance, now more than ever."

"Are you gonna fix him?" Dean asked.

"Max doesn't need to be fixed, Dean. He's just as God made him."

Dean blinked. He folded his hands in his lap. He frowned. "Could you fix him? If you wanted to? If he wanted you to?"

"There's nothing wrong with Max. He's learning that. What I want to know is why you're suddenly so interested in him?"

Dean sighed. "All the other guys in my class have a crush on Gina Martindale because she's pretty and smart and nice and a cheerleader." He looked down at his hands. "I don't."

"That's perfectly all right."

"I have a crush on Eric Sender."

Jim smiled. "Is he cute?"

The teenager's head snapped up, his eyes wide. "He's a _guy_." The pastor raised an eyebrow. Dean sighed. "Yeah. He is. He has a crush on Gina, though."

Jim patted his shoulder, still smiling down at him. "There are plenty of fish in the sea, Dean. God will see that you find the right one." He squeezed Dean's shoulder and stood. "I was thinking of having tacos for dinner tonight. You in?"

**IV.**

Sam was shoving things haphazardly into a duffel bag as Dean sat on the bed and watched. "Sammy."

"He can't do this," Sam raged. "He can't expect us to pick up and move again."

"I have to tell you something."

"He can't stop me from going. This is his quest, not mine. His vengeance."

"Sam."

"I didn't even know mom. I don't even know what we're fighting for."

"You can't tell dad."

"I'm done. I'm never coming back."

"He'd kill me."

"I'll show him. There's no danger unless we walk into it."

"Sammy."

"I don't need this. I deserve better. I deserve to be like everyone else."

"I'm gay."

"I'm not coming back." He slung his bag over his shoulder and walked out of the house.

**V.**

They were fighting. They'd fought a lot since Sam had left. Dean missed him. John did, too, but he tried not to let on. So they fought.

It was something stupid this time. Dean had misread some omens, sent them on a wild goose chase while people three towns over were being gutted by something.

One of those people had been a hunter, one of the few who had helped John out back in the beginning. So John was mad.

Dean wasn't going to cry, though. No matter how much his father yelled, no matter how many insults the older man hurled at him, no matter how many more beers John drank. Dean wasn't going to cry. He wasn't going to cry because he knew he'd messed up, wanted so badly to find something worth hunting in the town because Seth was there and Seth understood. He was a hunter with a homebase, with his own kitchen and bedroom and sheets. He loved Dean. He'd said so once.

Dean wasn't going to cry in front of his father, but he would cry in front of Seth, and Seth would understand.

John had stopped yelling. He was staring straight ahead, empty beer bottle clutched tight in his hand. "You can go," he muttered.

Dean felt his eyes widen, wondered if he'd accidentally said what he'd been thinking, wondered if his father knew. But John didn't say anything else. He just sat there and stared.

It was an angry silence, the kind that hung around so often since Sam had left. It was almost worse than the yelling, leaving so much unsaid and hanging in the air. It was so thick and uncomfortable and miserable, and Dean couldn't leave his father wallowing in it again.

"Well?" John asked, and Dean took a deep breath.

It had been building for 26 years. This feeling in his chest, that look in his father's eyes. "I have to tell you something."

John looked over at him with bleary eyes, grip tightening on the neck of his bottle. "Yeah?"

Dean took another deep breath, swallowed, looked straight ahead, eyes fixed on the wall. "Dad, I'm…" The word stuck in his throat, blocked in a way that it never had been before. It seemed like such a simple thing, but it just wouldn't come. He'd imagined this scenario a thousand times in his youth, the tearful confessions, his father's inevitable anger.

"Spit it out," John growled, growing impatient.

"Gay."

And the tears came, unbidden, sparked by the word he never said. It flew out like a punch, ripping from his throat, tearing his insides open and leaving him raw, bringing tears with the pain.

His father was silent.

"Please say something."

The bottle fell to the floor, hit the carpet, didn't shatter. "I know." John got up and walked into his room, leaving Dean to cry alone on the couch.

The next day, he was gone.

A month later, Sam's girlfriend burned.

**VI.**

"Give me one good reason."

The shadows of the weak sigils painted on the windows of Bobby's study cast long shadows on the two figures as they stood in the darkness and talked. Something was ending, something that had potential once, but had been stripped of everything good over the years. Lies and subterfuge and fire and ice laid out to be viewed in hindsight, and something was ending.

It was ending that night, unless Dean could come up with a good reason to abandon the Purgatory plot and take Raphael on with muscle and will. He looked into blue eyes, gazed at thin lips, and imagined all of the things he could say, all of the ways to keep the reprieve he'd found from the world and its tortures. He imagined lazy mornings in rumpled sheets sharing the kind of kisses that wives reserve for husbands, kisses of a softer nature in grassy parks, family and friends in a church as the future was laid out before them full of possibilities, understanding and love and togetherness, the promise of someone who wouldn't leave.

He saw all of those things taken by fire, by fear and religion and anger.

All he had to do was say three words, and they stuck in his throat. Because he couldn't lose this, too.

A month later, Castiel walked into a lake.

He didn't walk out.


End file.
